by Hannah Jayne
“You’re going to be okay, Lawson,” Alex said, resting his coat on my shoulders. I felt heavy and alien in my own body. When we pulled up in front of my apartment building, we sat in silence for several minutes, watching the traffic pass.
“You ready?”
I twisted my hands in my lap. “I appreciate everything you’ve done tonight, Alex, but I think I would like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”
Alex put his hand on my thigh and squeezed gently. It was probably the one part of my body that wasn’t sporting a flower of purple bruises.
He nodded. “Of course. But you promise to call me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all.”
“Sure.”
I turned as Alex rested his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, about what I said the other day, about me not being around?”
I sat back. “Yeah?”
“It’s not that I—I don’t want to be around. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you—”
I forced a smile; the pain seared all the way through me. “You don’t need to explain.”
“If I could ...”
I took his hand off my shoulder and patted it gently. “I know, Alex. If you could—if there were any way to make this work—you would, right?”
Alex swallowed hard but nodded, avoiding my gaze. “So, are we good?”
“Good friends? Yeah.”
Alex’s head bobbed, and then he turned to me, his blue eyes catching the light. “You know I love you, Lawson.”
I nodded my head. “I know you do, Alex.” I slammed the car door and turned away before he could see the tears welling in my eyes.
I slowly made my way to the apartment vestibule. I was met at the door by Will, who was balancing a pizza in one hand and paying the pizza man with the other. His profile was illuminated in the building’s lights and he had changed into sweatpants and an Arsenal T-shirt. He raised the pizza box when he saw me.
“Hey, love, how you feeling?”
I wagged my head and shrugged. “I don’t really know.”
“Fancy a slice?”
“No thanks. I just want to go to bed.”
Will looked like he was going to make a smart reply but thought better of it. Instead, he patted my shoulder awkwardly, then leaned down and brushed a soft kiss over my cheek, his lips soft as they tickled my ear. “Sorry you have to have such a crap guardian.”
I heard the rev of Alex’s engine as he sped away.
I opened the apartment door and Nina was stretched out on the couch, barefoot and dressed in a silky violet robe. There were a dozen empty blood bags crushed on the coffee table.
“Couldn’t find a fat guy.”
“Where’s Vlad?” I asked.
“Took off with the VERMers,” Nina said. “Apparently, a T-shirt shop on The Haight has committed some egregious crime against Count Chocula. Besides, I thought we could use a quiet night. Just you, me”—she held up the paper bag that was next to her on the couch—“and a couple dozen marshmallow Pinwheels.”
I grinned and lowered myself gingerly to the couch.
“You wouldn’t believe how hard these were to find. The corner market was totally sold out.”
“Weird. You’re starting to look better.”
“A full meal will do that to you.”
I poked the stack of blood bags with my toe. “A full meal? Looks like you had a full football team.”
Nina grinned and burped softly. “No offense, but you’re not looking so hot.”
I frowned and glanced at myself in the hall mirror. My hair was ratted and streaked with dirt and dried blood. There was a noticeable bald spot that flared red and angry when I touched it. My mascara was running and my lower lip was split and fat. Scratches and cuts crisscrossed like raised red train tracks over my legs and arms. It seemed that every part of me that wasn’t covered in blood was smeared with dirt and ballpoint-pen ink.
“I look like I got in a fight with the Office Depot guy.”
“And lost.”
I glared and Nina grinned, the tips of her fangs still sporting a deep red hue from her recent feeding.
“I think I’m going to take a shower.”
I ran the shower water as hot as I could get it and stood under the stream, scrubbing gently and whimpering each time I found a new ache. I stepped out and dried myself off, being careful not to look into any shiny surfaces. Ophelia’s gleeful laughter at my mother’s suicide still rang in my head and I wasn’t ready to face my grandmother.
I stiffened, thinking back to when I confronted Grandma about my being the Vessel. “Being a Vessel isn’t the worst thing, but dying to protect it is.”
Dying to protect the Vessel. Dying, to protect ... me.
I clamped my eyes shut and lost my breath. I saw the glare from the sun on the blond hardwood floor. I felt my mother touching me, nuzzling me, her hands seeming so big as they stroked my hair. “This way they’ll never find you, Sophie. They won’t know where to look.” A sob choked in my throat as the image became a memory, a thought. My tears mingled with the shower stream, flooding over my cheeks. I remembered that voice. I remembered that moment.
“It’s the only way.”
I started to nod my head despite the ache the movement caused. “Don’t do it,” I whispered. “I need you here.”
I stood still, letting the hot shower water wash over me.
When I finished with my shower I flopped on the couch in my bathrobe. ChaCha curled up next to me and Nina dumped two whole boxes of marshmallow Pinwheels on a plate and set it on the coffee table in front of me.
“I feel like I should be taking care of you,” I told her. “I practically got you killed.”
“But you rescued me,” Nina answered from the kitchen. “You came and found me. I’ve never had a friend who would do that for me.” She curled up on the couch next to me, folding her legs neatly underneath her.
“So, what happens now?”
“Well, I don’t have to be afraid of Ophelia anymore.”
“Does that mean it’s over?” Nina wanted to know.
I looked into her dark eyes and took a deep breath, trying to banish the image of Ophelia’s crumbling wings, her solemnly bowed head from my mind. I thought of Alex, of our night together, how I had run my fingers over the four-inch vertical scars just under each shoulder blade. He had stiffened, ashamed of the marks left from losing his wings.
“No, it’s not over. Not by a long shot.”
Nina rested her head on my shoulder, wrapping her cold arms around me. “It’s just the beginning, isn’t it?”
I may have been safe from Ophelia, but that was all. “I keep wondering how long it’s going to be until someone else comes hunting for me. And then there’s Alex... .”
“Alex isn’t going to come hunting for you, Sophie. He’s in love with you.”
“He’s a fallen angel.”
Unrepentant in her mission ... Alex’s words rang in my head. I closed my eyes and prayed for sleep to find me.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sun was streaming through my curtains when I woke the next morning at seven. ChaCha was snuggled up beside me and she opened one marble-brown eye when I shifted; she let out a sound halfway between a growl and a moan. I let out a sound halfway between a whimper and a cry, fairly certain that most of my bones were on backward. When I stepped out of bed and caught sight of myself in the mirror I sucked in a shocked—albeit not surprised—breath. Bruises pockmarked every bit of skin that was exposed. In between the quarter-sized blue and greenish orbs were scratch marks and cuts already beginning to scab over. I figured today would be a whole heck of a lot of Cover Girl and just enough Advil to get me through. But then again, I thought as I slumped back onto my bed, where do I have to go, anyway?
I chased the negative thoughts out of my head and gave myself a pep talk: Today I was going to find a job (preferably one with fire-retardant clothing), and possibly one that included access to painkillers and gauze, and I was going to
get my life back to normal. I might be a supernatural Vessel of Souls, but I was still Sophie Lawson, right down to my lime-Jell-O green eyes and my frazzled red hair—at least, what was left of it. I pulled a baseball cap low over my eyes and slid into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, marching to the front door. As I reached out for the knob, there were three short raps on the other side. My heart did a double-thump. Theoretically, the danger was gone. But in my life, staking the maniac du jour meant nothing. I rolled up on my tiptoes and cautiously peeked through the peephole.
“Dixon,” I said to myself. I yanked open the door and peered out. “What are you doing here?”
Dixon dipped his head in a supremely eighteenth-century manner. “Hello to you, too, Ms. Lawson.”
“I’m sorry, Dixon. Hello. What are you doing here?”
“May I come in?”
I looked Dixon over—tall, commanding, even standing in my reconstructed doorway. I didn’t notice any bulging holsters or daggers poking from his slick black suit and his eyes had the flat look of a satiated vampire. I decided he was safe and stepped aside. “Yes, come in.”
Dixon stepped around me and the little waft of cold air coming from his skin made me shiver.
“Nina told me what happened. Are you okay?”
I nodded, retracting my bruised hands into my sweatshirt sleeves. “It’s not as bad as it looks. We—breathers—just haven’t gotten that superhuman speed-healing thing down.” I tried to smile, but a drying cut at the side of my mouth prevented it. “Sorry about the state of the office.”
Dixon shrugged. “Our janitorial staff is used to much worse.”
There was a beat of companionable silence. I sucked in a slightly nervous breath. “No offense, but is there a reason you’re here?” I paused. “Do you want me to pay for the cleanup? Because my new job”—I twisted my sweatshirt in my hands—“burned down. So, I’m a little strapped for cash right now.”
Dixon’s usually slick smile looked kind. “No, of course we don’t expect you to pay for the damage.”
“Then ...”
I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but the six-foot, four-inch Dixon Andrade, all fangs and broad shoulders, looked bashful. “I wanted to offer you your job back.”
My stomach flip-flopped. “What?”
“I mean, if you’re still interested.”
“I am, yeah, of course. But—but Nina and Anson have pretty much taken over my old job and I’m not going to take Nina’s job. I guess if you have to let Anson go though ...”
Dixon shook his dark head of perfect, slick-backed hair. “Oh no, of course not. Nina will remain”—Dixon straightened his tie—“under me. This whole situation—with Ophelia and Alex—opened my eyes to a sect of the supernatural world that is currently being underserved. Sophie, I would like you to head up the Underworld Detection Agency’s Fallen Angel Division.”
I felt my cheeks push up into a grin. “Wow, sir, that sounds great. Except, I’m still the Vessel of Souls. Isn’t this going to be ... kind of dangerous?”
Dixon shook his head. “You will have full knowledge of any fallen angel activated anywhere in Northern California—likely before they even know you exist. Alex and I discussed how it would work.”
“Alex. Oh.”
“Besides, I think it’s best to always be one step ahead of the demon—or other—in the Underworld.” He grinned, his fangs catching the light. “So, will you come back to the Underworld Detection Agency, Ms. Lawson?”
I looked at Dixon’s outstretched hand, then glanced back up into his dark eyes. “One step ahead of the demons, huh?” There was a glint from the mirror across the room, and I grinned, then shook his hand. “Well, my grandmother always told me I should keep my friends close and my enemies closer.”
About the Author
Hannah Jayne lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. In addition to the Underworld Detection Agency series, Jayne writes cozy mysteries, young adult fiction, and grocery lists that she never remembers to bring to the grocery store.
When she’s not battling the demons of the Underworld, Jayne shares a house with two neurotic, feet-attacking cats and, like her character Sophie Lawson, has a Kryptonite-like weakness for donuts.
You can find her at www.hannahjschwartz.com or at Hannah Jayne on Facebook.
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